How I’ll Spend Every Minute of My Fifteen Minutes of Fame
Minute 4: I cut out all fake friends, they’re leeches.
Minute 4: I cut out all fake friends, they’re leeches.
Me, a sweat-stained, yellowing bed pillow. You, a 42-year-old single man that clearly hasn't lived with a woman since moving out of his mom’s place.
You're eleven, and first thing's first: everybody is going to be super impressed that you, an eleven-year-old, are already reading Hemingway.
No one warned me about grappling hook elbow after the age of 25--now my physical therapist owns a foreclosed volcano lair thanks to it.
They say in life, there are no winners and losers, yet here we are, living proof of how far from the truth that actually is.
After my performance last Saturday, I cannot in good conscience accept this participation ribbon.
The nine-to-five can be a grind, so if I’m not attempting to boost morale by blaring high-pitched ditties at every opportunity, then what use am I?
Our panopticon toilet utilizes ruthless social engineering to give you the most intimate experience with your partner.
I know you're the lone survivor, but that makes it all the more insulting.
And you know what? What if this was the zoo? Would that be so bad? You would still stay here if the price was right.
At what point did you realize the graphic I was drawing bore a loose resemblance to male genitalia? Please complete the following sentence: "After I drew _____."
I’ve been going in there (dark places in my mind) and destroying it (crying)! I take no prisoners (except myself)!